


Mr. and Mr. McKogane

by bolby



Series: Klance Week Fics [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, im a sucker for aus, mr. and mrs. smith au!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7708177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bolby/pseuds/bolby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He eyed a framed photo of Keith and him on the counter, from their wedding reception, and chanced the reach to grab it. Lance was pressing a kiss to Keith’s cheek, and Keith’s mouth was wide with laughter. Lance remembered that night well. His chest constricted, and he huffed. Three years together, three years sleeping in the same bed, cooking in the same kitchen, letting his guard down in front of somebody he had thought was his. Evidentially, Lance had been wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. and Mr. McKogane

**Author's Note:**

> its a mr and mrs smith au, inspired by that scene where they almost wreck the house. good shit. this is for klance week, day 4 the freeee day. hope y'all enjoy!!

“Something weighing on your conscience, _dear husband_?” Lance snarked, chancing a peek around the corner and into the kitchen. He frowned at the sight of his favorite glass, shattered on the floor, among the other broken plates and one of the cabinet’s doors, split in half. “Because you missed.” Keith had fired a shot into just an inch from Lance’s ear moments before, but Lance was no idiot--Keith could have killed him right there. Lance’s lips turned down at the thought that he was being toyed with. 

"You’re handling that gun pretty well, yourself, _honey_ ,” shouted Keith, from somewhere in the dining room, past the kitchen. Lance couldn’t see any movement. He grit his teeth and darted into the kitchen, crouching behind the island. He glanced up at the counter and noted, with some relief, that the plate his mother had made and gifted Keith and Lance as a wedding present was still in tact. Keith had insisted they put the plate somewhere in the open, somewhere they saw it every day when they ate breakfast before work every morning. Lance wondered if that was genuine. He wondered if any of their marriage, if any of it, had been genuine. 

Keith had been sent to kill Lance, that much was clear. He’d married Lance in an effort to get close, and, on orders from some patron, Keith was finishing the job. Lance couldn’t believe he’d been so god damned blind. He eyed a framed photo of Keith and him on the counter, from their wedding reception, and chanced the reach to grab it. Lance was pressing a kiss to Keith’s cheek, and Keith’s mouth was wide with laughter. Lance remembered that night well. His chest constricted, and he huffed. Three years together, three years sleeping in the same bed, cooking in the same kitchen, letting his guard down in front of somebody he had  _thought_ was his. Evidentially, Lance had been wrong. 

Movement out of the corner of Lance’s eye had him whirling around, muscles tense. He gripped his gun tightly, a Colt XSE, his eyes locking on Keith’s reflection in the glass of the oven. Keith was crouching, leaning out into the entrance to the kitchen. He seemed to be surveying the room; he was holding a gun, but Lance couldn’t tell which one it was. Lance had been waiting for Keith to return home after running into him on a job. Imagine Lance’s surprise when somebody else showed up to finish off _his_ target, and imagine his shock when that someone turned out to be his _god damned husband_ , working for the very firm which had given Lance’s own employer rivaled. Needless to say, the job was a complete failure, and as he’d returned to his firm to report the happenings, barely refraiming from crumbling altogether under the crushing revelation that his husband was probably going to try to kill him, he’d recieved the order. Kill Keith Kogane. Lance had never mingled emotions and his jobs, but this... this was too much. 

Lance kept his breathing as quiet as he could, his body as still as possible, and as Keith began to stand, Lance, in a fit of agitation, flung the photo in his hand at the wall. It struck close by Keith’s face, and Lance heard him hiss, but he didn’t look, couldn’t. He slid around the corner, back into the foyer, grabbing a large piece of broken glass as he went. The floor was covered in shattered dishes and the like. He held the piece up, angle just right so that he could see Keith reaching up towards a cut on his cheek, frowning. Keith glanced down at the photo on the ground and _rolled his eyes_ , of all things. “Trust you to be petty while you’re trying to kill me,” grumbled Keith, taking cover behind the island. 

“Says the one who almost ran me over in our driveway less than an hour ago,” Lance retorted, indignant. “Why didn’t you just kill me before? You had plenty of chances.” Lance didn’t even want to think about all of the times Keith could have ended it. There had been so many. Too many. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Keith scoffed, bitter. “You think I knew that you were involved in all of this? All this time, I thought you lo-” he fell silent, and for a moment Lance wasn’t sure he was going to continue. “It doesn’t matter now.” 

Before Lance could wonder about what Keith had nearly said, bullets sank into the wall around him, to his left and his right and above his head. Lance moved fast, sprinting towards the stairs and up into the master bedroom. He used to think it was foolish to hide his two-tone glock in the fireplace, but he also never used to think this could have happened. It was in case of emergency, robbers or assassins or the like. Lance never would have imagined he’d be using it to fire against Keith.  

As Lance reached up into the chimney, his fingers searching around the cold brick for the, Keith kicked the bedroom door open, entering the room with his gun raised and pointed at Lance. Lance’s fingers found the cool metal of his gun, and he pulled it out swiftly, aiming directly back at Keith, staying crouched by the fireplace. Keith was holding a Beretta which Lance recognized as his own, and Lance’s lips curled. “That’s _my_ gun.” 

Keith shrugged. “Did you hide guns all over the house?” he inquired, dark eyes narrowing. “I found this one underneath a loose floorboard in the dining room. Nice touch.” 

“You have your own, don’t you?” Lance sneered, sweat forming on his brow. “Where are all of _those_?” 

Keith actually quirked a smile, damn him. “In the garage.” 

Lance’s eyebrows furrowed. He’d been all around the house, finding places to hide guns in case he ever needed to protect himself, and Keith. He’d thoroughly checked the garage. It was small and left little room for many secret spaces. Lance had only managed to find one good spot inside of it. “There aren’t any guns in there.” 

“Not on the first floor,” Keith’s smirk caught an edge, and Lance forced himself to just breathe and focus. It was either Keith or him. This decided it. 

He reached behind him, watching Keith’s eyes follow his movements closely, grabbed a handful of ash, and threw it into Keith’s face. As Keith stumbled, shielding his eyes, Lance lunged forward, knocking Keith’s gun clear across the room. He struggled for the upper hand, to get Keith on the ground, but Keith was far more muscle than Lance, and Keith managed to wrestle Lance’s own gun out of his hands, knocking it aside, too far for Lance to reach. Fists began to fly as Keith and Lance grappled to get on top of one another, rolling around the room and knocking over the porcelain lamp on the table at the end of the bed. That had been a wedding gift from Keith’s mother, Lance recalled. He winced as it shattered. 

Somehow, both Lance and Keith managed to stand amidst the fighting, and as Keith swung his arm towards Lance’s face, Lance sent a kick straight into Keith’s abdomen, throwing Keith backwards a couple of feet. Utilizing the time bought, Lance scrambled back towards his gun, lying next to the door, and when he swung around to aim it, the barrel of Keith’s gun stared straight back at him. 

Both men’s chests rose and fell frantically, and neither moved a muscle as they gulped in air and stared one another down. Lance drank in the sight of Keith, hair disheveled and cheeks flushed. The first few buttons on his white dress shirt had come undone, and the cut on his cheek bled slowly, oozing ruby red. Lance imagined his hair was similarly mussed, his clothes askew like Keith’s had become. Neither of them had uttered a word, too fixated on the other to urge themselves to move. 

The torturous silence ended abruptly as Keith heaved a sigh, lowering his gun and sending Lance a small, sorrowful smile. “I can’t do it,” he admitted, lifting his shoulders uselessly. Hot tears welled in Lance’s eyes, and he sucked in a sharp breath, willing himself to maintain composure. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, jabbing the gun in Keith’s direction. “Don’t give me that bullshit. Raise your gun, don’t _fuck_ with me, Keith, god _damn_ you!” His breathing became unsteady, but Keith didn’t seem fazed. He took a step towards Lance, who flinched but didn’t move away. 

“Can _you_?” Keith asked quietly, his eyes searching Lance’s face intently. Lance heard the question, it rang in his ears and pounded at his skill. _Can you kill me?_

Lance blinked, trying to clear his vision of the blinding blur, and sniffled pitifully as tears fell down his cheeks. He lowered his gun, and that’s all Keith needed to rush forward into Lance’s arms. Keith grabbed Lance’s face with one hand and his waist with the other, wrenching him close, their lips pressing together needfully, hungrily, desperately. Lance’s gun clattered against the ground as he wrapped his arms around Keith’s neck, returning Keith’s passion twofold, unable to hold back any longer. How could he? 

Keith pulled Lance backwards with him and as the back of Keith’s knees hit the edge of the bed, they fell, hands tearing off shirts and pants and socks. Keith’s hands ran down Lance’s sides, sending an electric shiver through him, as Lance sucked at his neck, palming him through his briefs. Keith’s chest rumbled with a noise, low and needy, pulling Lance up to catch his lips, hands searching greedily down Lance’s back. 

Keith crawled back onto the bed and Lance followed close behind, straddling him, doting kisses onto Keith’s chest, traveling down to the waistband of his briefs and tugging them down, his striking blue eyes flickering to Keith’s face. Lance watched in satisfaction as Keith exhaled, sharp and breathless, licking at his pelvis, body rolling against Keith’s. 

They lost themselves in each other, all sweat and breathless sounds and desperate movement. From that point on, nothing else seemed to matter--not the firms, not the house (the damage done was practically irreparable, and the neighbors must have become skeptical--moving was likely their best bet), not the cut on Keith’s cheek or the bruise on Lance’s side. They enveloped themselves in one another for the entirety of the night, and when the electric passion finally ebbed, not quite gone but satisfied to a fault, they lay wrapped in silk covers, guns and worries forgotten at the foot of the bed.


End file.
